


That Reaper, Reborn

by chase_the_fox007



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Backstory, Canon Trans Character, Gen, Human, Human Grell, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Kuroshitsuji, Kuroshitsuji Spoilers, LGBTQ Character, Manga Spoilers, Pre-Canon, Pre-Manga, Pre-Series, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Trans Character, Transphobia, Young Grell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_the_fox007/pseuds/chase_the_fox007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short backstory for Grell Sutcliff inspired by a panel in chapter 105 in the Kuroshitsuji manga.<br/>I've never written a proper Black Butler fic before but I adore Grell, so here have something that's kind of depressing "^^</p>
<p>There's het but no actual romance/sex, and Grell flirts with men too~<br/>OCs are used very briefly but yeah mainly it's just Grell, there's no main OC character, don't worry :'D</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Reaper, Reborn

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Ok so before anyone starts going off about how Grell isn't trans, listen:  
> Grell wears makeup, feminine clothes, has long hair, refers to herself as a lady, and in a manga extra said she would have surgery to make her appearance more feminine if she got the chance (I saw it ages ago when I read the first 60 chapters or so online, I remembered it because I found it really interesting at the time ;w; ).  
> I really don't need much more proof of her being trans, tbh. And Black Butler is set in the 1800s, when actual trans people would be thought of as crazy. Of course everyone in the anime/manga refers to her as 'he'.
> 
> If you want to think of this as an AU then fine, go ahead. It's your choice "^^
> 
> EXPLANATION: There was a panel in chapter 105 of the manga that said shinigami are created when a human commits suicide, and as punishment the human is made to see more death than ever until they are forgiven (or something). And I was thinking how that means Grell would have had to commit suicide when she was human, and Ronald and William and the others, and I was thinking about why they would possibly do that. I mean, Ronald and Grell at least seem so happy 99% of the time, bless them. And I view Grell as trans, and even now 1 in 12 Trans women will be killed or kill themselves in the USA, or something to that effect. It must have been much more in the 1600s, I would think.  
> Gosh, so depressing... I'm really sorry guys >
> 
> But yes, this is set in the 1600s "^^ Since nothing like an age or birthday or year is known about Grell, I had fun making it up "^^ I know Kuroshitsuji is set in the 1800s and in the manga Ronald calls Grell middle-aged at some point, but I figure since shinigami are immortal, their middle-aged is little bit older than 40/50 :'D
> 
> The title is so because of the titles of the chapters and episodes. I'm improvising here, people.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this anyway, I saw the manga panel and I had to write this when the idea came to me. I love Greall so much dammit >.

Have you ever looked in the mirror and been disgusted at what you saw? Have you ever felt a pit of revulsion in your stomach whenever you see your own reflection? Your own mind tells you you’re a deformity, you  _shouldn’t_  look like this, and yet those around you tell you to get over it, stop being stupid? But how can they not see how  _wrong_  this is, how wrong they are when they tell you everything is fine?

Being trapped inside your own body is the worst place to be trapped. Those you care about look down their noses at you in disgust, strangers give you dirty glances in the street. Even the pair of eyes that look back at you in the mirror regarded you with contempt. It’s a lonely life.

 

Grell jumped when she heard someone clearing their throat behind her, and turned to see an unfamiliar man in elegant clothing. He was a little too old to be considered attractive, but Grell supposed when he was younger he would have been nice-looking.

“Hello.” Grell’s voice came out unsure – she felt as though the majority of this ‘celebration’ were strangers, though she acted as though she knew them anyway, just in case she did know them and had just forgotten. The man gave a friendly smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr Sutcliff.” So they  _had_  met before. “I just wanted to congratulate you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Grell’s tone was bland and she forced a smile, before jumping minutely when she felt her father’s hand suddenly on her shoulder.

“Please forgive my son, he’s not been well as of late,” he told the man with an apologetic smile, squeezing Grell’s shoulder rather uncomfortably.

“Right, yes, sorry,” said Grell, biting the inside of her cheek.

Once the man had left, Sir Sutcliff looked down at Grell. More like glared.

“What is wrong with you?” He hissed, pulling the other away from the crowd. “Why can’t you be happier? This is your  _wedding_ , for God’s sake!”

“Yes, it’s wonderful, just what I wanted.” Grell’s voice was monotonous, and Sir Sutcliff looked as though he would have smacked the twenty one year old if there hadn’t been so many people around.

“You had better pull yourself together, boy-“

“Don’t call me that.”

“No, I  _will_  call you that. You stop this rubbish and you stop it now! You’re to dance with Miss Angelina in five minutes in front of the guests, if you’re not there I will be  _very_ displeased.”

Grell narrowed her eyes. “I already married her, must I really dance with her too?” It wasn’t Angelina that was the problem, but the entire situation was making Grell extremely uncomfortable. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation, but it wasn’t a fun one either.

“Yes! My god, at least  _act_  like you care about the woman!”

“Why should I act like anything other than myself?” Grell snapped. She knew that she was probably reaching dangerous waters with her father, but she wasn’t particularly inclined to care. As the daughter of one of the gentry, she was fairly respected. She had a nice house, money, expensive suits, all the trimmings.

Only she was surrounded by people who mistook her broken voice and flat chest for male, and it made her feel sick. Her family had alienated her since she had argued for hours about her being female, and people outside the family barely saw her – it wasn’t as though she had friends, after all. The last thing Grell wanted to do was hide who she was, even if that meant being alone. She knew not to steal any of her mother’s dresses or makeup again, however – she had had a black eye for a week and bruises on her arms once her father had caught her tying a corset on herself, wearing blusher and lipstick. He wasn’t going to have any son of his acting like a bloody woman. So Grell was simply herself, but in a quieter way. She understood that usually people like her were dropped off in a mad house, or even killed, so she supposed some part of her was grateful that that hadn’t happened. But still, having her family loathe her wasn’t a whole lot better, really.

“Because you are  _wrong_ ,” Sir Sutcliff growled. The word was like a knife. “You will dance with Miss Angelina, and you will smile for the guests. You will be  _normal_ , do you hear me? I’m not having this argument again, boy.”

Grell gritted her teeth, but said nothing. There was no getting through to him, she knew that. He would call her ‘boy’ and glare at her and hate her until the day he died. Nothing would ever change that. The thought wasn’t comforting. She sighed, and left Sir Sutcliff to go and find her ‘bride’.

 

 

~Six years later~

 

She couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take the sneers, the glares, the “sir”s, the “Mr Sutcliff”s, the “my husband”s, the “my son”s. She couldn’t take the deepness of her voice and the broadness of her shoulders, the flatness of her chest and the way she was expected to be in charge constantly. She couldn’t take the look of disgust Angelina would give her whenever she mentioned anything less than ‘manly’, and she couldn’t take the fear of anyone in the street talking to her, calling her wrong, looking at her wrong, perceiving her wrong. She couldn’t take looking in the mirror anymore. She had wanted to grow her hair, but had been talked down. Sure, suits were nice, but they were nicer if you got a break from wearing them every so often. The whispered comments, the snide remarks, the ugly looks, the insecurity and the pain and the anxiety, the “he”s and “him”s, were all etched on her skin, thin lines up her arms and legs. She couldn’t do this anymore.

No one seemed to notice that the light had gone out of her eyes. No one noticed when she became quieter, more reserved. Her parents never sent a letter when she stopped visiting, and Angelina never commented when she stopped leaving the house.

They didn’t care, thought Grell. Of course they didn’t. Angelina probably stopped caring when Grell told her she wouldn’t give her children. Her parents hadn’t cared since she was young, and they had thought she would be a perfect little boy.

Grell entered the closet, the walls of the smallish room lined with racks of clothing. Dresses, suits, shoes, black, white, grey, red, green, blue. Her expression was void as she lifted the rope she was holding, and slung it over one of the racks attached to the ceiling. She glanced at herself in the mirror – pale skin, brown eyes, flaming red hair, slim figure. Curveless, flat, lean. Her hair was rather unique – maybe that was why she hadn’t been dumped in a mad house. It had been easy to marry her off, she supposed. She swallowed hard, and watched in disgust as her Adam’s apple moved in her throat.

She heard a noise behind her suddenly, a faint shuffle of feet, and turned quickly to see only the empty doorway, leading to the empty bedroom beyond that. It must have been nothing, she told herself. Just her imagination.

She took a chair and set it in front of herself, inhaling a little shakily before stepping up. She thought maybe she should say something, but there was nothing to say. No one to say goodbye to, nothing more to do. She felt as though she should be feeling sad right about now. Maybe she should be tearing up, that’s what a normal person would probably do, right? But no – there was only a feeling of emptiness, along with the faint, almost hopeful relief that this might all be over soon, and she would be free of the pain.  She rolled up her sleeves, as if that would help. Maybe people might feel sorry once she was gone.

 

At first, she thought it hadn’t worked. It hurt, it burned her throat and left her body weak and aching for air. Her limbs trembled and she gagged, but once it peaked, it disappeared. Nothingness. She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her feet, but she did hear footsteps entering the closet. They sounded like the ones he had heard a moment earlier – not like Angelina, though.

“Grell Sutcliff, born on October 3rd, 1633. Died from hanging on May 27th, 1660. Remarks-“

“Huh?” Grell’s eyes flew open, and the man standing before her looked vaguely amused. “Wh-who are you?” Her voice was strained by the rope, and her hands reached up to the hoop cutting into her throat, which she could barely feel anymore.

“I’m a grim reaper.”

“Very funny.” Grell grunted as she released herself from the rope, falling to the ground. She glanced upwards and stared, wide eyed, at her own body that still hung from the ceiling.

“And you’re dead,” said the man. “Come with me.”

“But… I… H-how? What, are you here to take me to hell, or to heaven perhaps?” Grell didn’t move, still utterly confused and feeling rather shaken, trying hard not to look up at her own corpse.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” said the strange man, his bright green eyes sharp. “You’ll be trained as a reaper from now.”

“Why? What are you talking about?” This man had to be insane – then again, she was sat on the floor, her own slightly swinging body right before her eyes. This whole situation appeared completely insane.

“Because of this.” The man gestured to the hanging body. “Suicides become reapers until they are forgiven. As punishment.”

Grell was silent for a long moment, before she shuffled back a little, away from the man and the corpse, and felt her back hit the mirror on the other side of the room. She stood slowly and turned to look at herself in the mirror, her brows furrowed. She looked more or less the same, apart from the unnaturally emerald eyes that had replaced her brown ones. She looked back at the man, and blinked rapidly – he seemed slightly blurred all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?” She asked, looking back in the mirror at her perfectly clear reflection.

“Reapers are short-sighted,” the man said. “You’ll be given glasses once we get to the training facility. You must come with me.”

Grell turned to look at the man again. She supposed there was no choice for her but to go with him – at least she would be free of these people, of this place, now. Maybe this would be better. She wouldn’t count on it, but she could hope. She glanced down at herself, noticing the smooth skin on her arms, and the slightly rumpled state of her suit, and nodded.

“Alright.”

 

*** *** *** ***

 

Grell had been right; things  _were_  better now. There was still ridicule, and odd looks, and “he”s and “him”s, but no one yelled at her or openly scolded her for referring to herself as a lady. Few dared to comment on some of her clothing choices once it became clear that she was a talented reaper, and she became far more confident, even gaining a few friends.

Years passed, so many years, and it became completely normal for Grell to adjust her makeup occasionally, and bat her eyelashes at some of the more attractive reapers, and to flirt with them too. Not a bad word was said when Grell decided to grow out her hair, letting it fall past her waist like a scarlet waterfall. The reaper could look in the mirror without cringing, and without a pit of revulsion in her stomach, without the hate and shame and malice that she had held for herself for so long. Not everything was perfect, but it was so much better now. She could finally feel something like happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed~! Leave me a comment or kudos if you like it!
> 
> (And for people reading my Malec fic, that is still happening, just saying!)


End file.
